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About Chicago

I roll up, see this chick—red heels, smokin’ a cig. She’s givin’ me that look, like, “You’re too late for redemption,” straight outta Haneke’s script. I’m hyped, tho—heart’s pumpin’ like I’m in the ring. I saunter over, all smooth, sayin’, “Hey, baby, I must break you.” She smirks, tosses the cig, goes, “Fifty bucks, champ.” I’m like, damn, inflation’s real! Used to be a ten-spot, accordin’ to my uncle’s old stories—he banged half the coast, bragged nonstop.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

The town center—damn, it’s got its quirks, just like me. Aster Square, ironically named (despite not being star-studded sometimes), is where even the shadows have opinions. I've had moments there where I felt like I was in a movie, like Brooklyn—"the soul can be a refuge" kinda moments. Sometimes when I’m walking at night, I convince myself every whisper of the wind is a baaackstory from the past. Booooring? Nah, always an adventure!

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